Chapter 1
One moment he had been enjoying himself on the Hogwarts Express. He was heading into his sixth year and his mates from his house had gotten a plus-sized cabin all for themselves, admittedly with a little bit of Albus exploiting his Prefect status and Hector bribing people with sweets, but they got there. Cornelius Flint, ever the resourceful drunk, had managed to sneak in Firewhisky. Lawrence Applebee had brought a tiny vial of versiraterum. Consequently, the incoming sixth-year Slytherin boys had elected to unleash complete and utter havoc in a game of drunken dares and confessions, which actually wasn't very prudent or characteristic of them but everyone had to be reckless some time in their life, right? Better now than later, Albus Severus Potter concluded.
"Sweet Merlin, Cornelius, how did you manage to steal another stash of your dad's Firewhisky supplies?" Arching his brow, Albus inquired his friend, who was, at present, smirking like a smug snake.
"Practice, Albus, makes perfect."
"And there's more - I got this!" A guy beamed as he held up a small vial.
"Versiraterum? Bloody hell Lawrence what have you got versiraterum for? Oh Merlin's pants, no way, you're not actually thinking of doing it? I was joking when I suggested it. It might not even work." Albus sensed what Lawrence was thinking ('drinking game,' 'deepest darkest secrets,' 'Who does Albus fancy now?') and he gulped in unease.
A devious smirk. "We'll see."
"Confessions! We're going to play confessions?" Scorpius piped up before Albus could voice his complaints, ever the expert at connecting the dots. Sometimes, Albus wondered why such a nice guy like Scorpius ended up being friends with him and the surrounding den of assholes. No offense intended of course, but the truth can sound caustically harsh. He had lost count of the number of admonishings the guy had collectively given them.
"Exactly. We mix each glass of firewhisky with just two drops of this," Lawrence declared as he held up the vial proudly, "and spill all our secrets, selectively of course. It all depends on what questions we can ask. And then - then we get to dare each other and force each other to do things because, if not, we'll spill the disobedient person's secrets!" He seemed so delighted, so proud, like he had just discovered the holy grail. Or a way to break Gramp's Sixth Law of Transfiguration or some random shit. Being friends with a nerd like Scorpius had really infected his brain with supercilious trivia. Supercilious, because Albus never really bothered to dig deeper and actually care.
"The mute starts!"
"I do talk, Corny."
"To merpeople. They don't count. And what kind of name is Corny?"
"Please don't try to discriminate based on species Cornelius, seeing as you are part mule, that would place you on the very end of the social ladder."
"Albus, be nice! Mules are awesome - they're very useful, they can carry-"
"Okay Scorpius, okay. You can stop trying to regurgitate some monthly agricultural journal about animals muggle farmers use."
"Mules don't-"
"Back to the point. Hector, why don't you down this glass instead?"
"Drink! Drink! Drink! Drink!"
"All done!"
"Who do you want to fuck the most out of our year?"
"Melissa Bulstrode."
"No way!"
"Damn! I always knew there was something about the way you kept on looking at her!"
"I can see you two happening."
"Duke, you're next!"
"Have you ever tried on a Phallic Enhancement Potion?"
"Yes…"
"With Pandora Pippins?"
"One question. One question per round - that was the agreement. Next person!" Duke astutely avoided giving away anything else. Except Albus could hear his anxieties. ('What would Pandora say about this?') It was silly, really. They had been all over each other ever since second-year.
"Jon, why don't you go? Kill, fuck and marry. Professor Ainsworth, Susan Goyle and your grandmother."
"Lawrence, that's sick in the head!"
"It's your turn and it's not over until you answer it."
"Damn… uh… Fuck Professor Ainsworth, I mean that ass is nice plus she's hot - oh come on, stop giving me that look! Plus, she's smart as hell and can probably whisper nice things while in bed. She is positively fuckable! Stop it, guys! Kill Susan, sorry Susan, I can't kill grandma. And yes, you perversely minded human beings, I'll marry my grandmother. Now it's your turn to suffer Albus: would you snog Anya or Scorpius?"
"Scorpius." The words came flooding out involuntarily. "I mean, come on, Anya dumped me for her OWL exams last year so I'm giving her the silent treatment now. Fucking Ravenclaws. Seriously, I do not want to think of ever again. Hear me? Plus, Scorpius is my best mate and he won't mind."
"Oh shit! The secret's out! I always knew Potter had a thing for Malfoy! Potter and Malfoy sitting in the tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-"
"No! No! No! Scorpius - Scorpius, I promise this isn't something weird, okay? You're my best friend and you mean so, so much to me and I'll do whatever makes you feel comfortable - damn that's not what I - okay maybe. Besides, you're still all starry-eyed over Rose, aren't you? You-"
The door slid open. James came swaggering in. It was his last year and he had just been appointed as Head Boy, beating Justin MacLaggen, who was a git. Between his brother and Justin, Albus would happily opt for the lesser of two evils. Still, it didn't make his brother coming in and embarrassing him any less vexing.
"Sod off James! Get off me!"
"My baby brother's drinking alcohol? My baby brother's drinking alcohol without informing me? I'm disappointed!" A dramatic sigh. "Ten million points from Slytherin, that will be."
"Piss off, go hang out with your friends or screw whatever girl you're currently dating - can't remember her name - or something."
(On the other hand, James, in spite of his insufferable antics, had saved the day because he was no longer pestered by Jon.)
"May I join?"
"No!"
And then a whole barrage of brash, loud, annoying (no double standards here, whatsoever) Gryffindors, most of whom happened to be Albus's cousins, came crashing in.
"Yeah!"
"Let's do this shit!"
"JAMES WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!"
"You know you love me Albus."
"Actually, Albus loves Scorpius. We just confirmed that."
"Oh really? -"
"Jon, go kill yourself. You wanted to marry your grandma."
"Context matters."
"It's okay baby brother." A pat on the head. "Our family's tolerated you being a sneaky little snake. We'll tolerate you being gay with Malfoy- shit! Why is Annie Bones here? Oh, sweet Merlin, I'm doomed!" He threw his arms into the air and despaired.
More entrants. Hufflepuffs who evidently came for the alcohol. (Who was giving away all this information?) James bolted out before his ex-girlfriend could properly interact with him all while their cabin was inundated with new arrivals.
Having downed five glasses, everything was already descending into a blur and throughout the rest of the journey, Albus Potter vaguely remembered snippets of snogging (and blond hair), getting his photo taken, ripping off his clothes and dancing on the table half-naked with his tie strapped to his head like a complete idiot, downing four more drinks. What a way to start a year.
He needed air, most definitely, for the inside of the cabin was now suffocating with sweat. He also needed some respite from people in general. They were getting a bit too much. It didn't matter that he was half-naked, he needed to get out. Plus he needed to mentally recollect himself before the Prefects convened and started their year of duties and he couldn't do it while still inebriated.
Then, all else was history; his world went dark
~X~
"Wotcher Harry."
He felt his body awaken. Slowly, Albus got up and raised his head to the sight of a face that he did not know but that wasn't completely unfamiliar either. He had seen it somewhere, somehow. She was holding his Invisibility Cloak that she just pulled away.
Wait - that made no sense. He hadn't been under his Invisibility Cloak, had he? His housemates were fucking snakes. Literally, metaphorically, metaphysically, spiritually, whatever way possible. They must have thought it funny. Granted, that seemed a bit far even for the likes of Lawrence, who was a horrible bully up until the end of second-year, when he realized that Albus was perhaps the only person who could prevent him from obtaining yet another dismal Potions grade. (From there, a friendship had blossomed.)
Also, why the heck did someone refer to him as 'Harry'? A couple of old senile people had done that a few years ago - and a few ghosts too. Still, it wasn't all that common.
The blue-haired lady, whoever she was, frowned a little at the sight of his attire. He did not look very put together, with a half unbuttoned shirt and some Gryffindor's tie (probably James', though he had a faint idea as to how it got there, not that he particularly cared) fastened on his head. A classic look of a lunatic out of an asylum. Coming closer, she scrutinized his face and frowned. His hair was plastered around his forehead, his hair gel's use worn off by profuse sweating.
Still befuddled by the lady's address, Albus was about foment a response when a wave of nausea swept through his entire body. He vomited on the floor, wretching. He was both embarrassed and disgusted. Wiping away the vile bile of his stomach from the corner of his mouth, he groggily stood up and apologized. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"
"We'd better get out of here; quickly," she said, evidently holding her nose. The windows of the Hogwarts Express were now obscured by steam. Crap. "Come on, we'll jump."
Deciding that this woman probably meant no harm, Albus followed behind her, albeit with his had tightly clutched around the wand in his pocket. A degree of wariness to random strangers who led you to places would be the most prudent choice, though for some reason, this line of reasoning seemed ridiculous once Albus mentally recited it in his head. She pulled the door open and leaped onto the platform and he followed suit, staggering a little as he landed. Just as he straightened himself, the steam engine had picked up speed and he was left gazing at the back of the train.
The air was cool and it freshened him to an extent. Yet there was a nagging feeling that something was very, very wrong. Call it intuition.
"Ma'am, if I may ask a question-"
"Ma'am? Harry, what kind of address is ma'am? It's Tonks for you!"
Again. She had called him by his dad's name again.
Tonks. That sounded familiar. Teddy! That's right! Tonks was the name of Teddy's mother.
But Teddy's mother was dead and combined with the fact that she had repeatedly mistaken him for his dad, this could not mean well. In fact, if Albus permitted his imagination to go wild, it could only mean that he was probably dead from alcohol overdose and she was greeting him in afterlife. In light of the fact that he really resembled his father - sans the glasses and the lightning scar, which was obscured from her view anyway - she must have mistaken him from the illustrious Harry Potter.
Whelp.
Well, at least his namesake once called death the start to another great adventure. Maybe he'll have fun around this place. Still, it was a little shitty to die from alcohol poisoning. Not to mention, it would be embarrassing for him to explain it to everyone else. Oh hi Sirius Black, I'm your godson's son and I had a bit too much alcohol on the Hogwarts Express and here I am.
"Tonks," Albus asked, "Well, what next?"
She frowned. "Harry-"
"I'm - I'm not -" Albus interjected, before fumbling. He wasn't sure whether to reveal the fact that he really wasn't Harry Potter. He hoped he didn't come across as rude.
Tonks snorted, mildly amused, but in an amicable manner. She was more impressed than peeved.
"Okay I know I'm not 100% sober right now but can you please at least try to believe what I'm saying?"
A flash of understanding passed Tonk's face and she started laughing. "Oh Harry, getting drunk at the start of your Sixth Year! Nice try. Not bad, not bad at all-"
Alternative scenario: he had gone back in time and somehow substituted the place of his own father. Tonks was still alive back then, hence her appearance. She refused to believe him because, in all honesty, he looked drunk/ hungover and idiotic at the moment. Extrapolating this, it would mean everyone else treating and viewing him as Harry Potter. Everyone.
To tell her or to not tell her? Heck, it doesn't matter. She won't believe him anyway. Not many people probably would.
Well, what next?
"I'm not feeling very well," Albus simply said, "Tonks. I need to puke."
And he did.
"So, how do I get in?"
The gates were bewitched so spells won't work. Anti-intruder jinxes are guaranteed to make entry difficult. Word said that Douglas Boot - Albus had no idea what that boy was in Ravenclaw, the supposed Home of the Wise - had tried to climb through the wall and ended up spending a week at the hospital so that ruled another option out. And Albus did not fancy camping out for the night. (Who would?) On the other hand, he was not sure if he had the cash for a night's stay at Hogsmeade.
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
"Someone's coming down for you," Tonks said, "Look."
"Fuck," Albus said aloud. Unintentionally.
He had nothing against Severus Snape, who was carrying a glowing yellow lantern and walking towards them. His dad had spoken about the man with praise and, in spite of uncle Ron's comments about how Snape treated them when they were at school, which did not sound all that pleasant, Albus could still appreciate what the man did for his father. He was named after Severus Snape, after all, Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore.
"Well, well, well," the man sneered, taking out his wand and tapping the padlock so that the chains snaked backward and the gates opened. "Nice of your to turn up Potter - and express such unbelievable profanity - in such egregious attire, well into the welcoming feast."
"Have a good day too, Sir. I'm afraid I got drunk, though I had no precise memory of my inebriation process." Albus shrugged his shoulders and tried to look as nonchalant as possible. Everything still felt milzly hazy around him. He decided to go along with the whole being inebriated and doing stupid shit scenario. Tonks was sniggering every so slightly.
Was the man trembling with rage? Oh yes, he most certainly was.
"I'm sorry sir," Albus apologized, "I was being totally inappropriate. I know, there's no excuse. Don't ask me where the alcohol came from because I didn't produce it." He held up his hands and avoided Snape's eyes because he had a feeling that the man was probably a Legilimens (like him.) "It was dumb, I know, and I would like to apologize to whoever I managed to traumatize except I could not quite remember their names-"
"That's enough, Potter," Snape interjected and Albus could taste the loathing in the air. Did Snape really hate this father this much? "There's no need to wait Nymphadora, Potter is quite - ah - safe in my hands."
Would he be? In spite of all he's heard from his father, Albus felt a little skeptical. Just a little.
He really was back in time, wasn't he?
He was in an inexplicably complicated and atrocious position right now. If his conjectures were correct, then he really was back in the past, presumably when his father was still a student and Hogwarts and around the sixth year because neither Tonks or Snape voiced surprise at his age. Also, everyone seemed to think he was his father so far. The fact that he now covered part of his forehead with hair helped because that was where his father's famed lightning bolt scar was. Yet, with horror, Albus realized that being perceived as Harry Potter at the time of Harry Potter's sixth year would mean a trail of fanatical Death Eaters and one crazy Dark Lord hellbent on murdering him. Life was good. Truly, he had been blessed by fate's anus.
"The new one looks weak," Snape uttered the words with malice and Albus saw the shock and anger on Tonks' face. Presumably, they were talking about her Patronus, though he couldn't be sure as he was only faintly paying attention to their conversation. Still, what a dick move.
"Good night Tonks, for the record, I think your Patronus looks awesome," Albus called over his shoulder and waved good-naturedly. "Thanks for bearing with me!"
"See you, Harry."
Snape was not speaking, but he was glaring at Albus with such unmistakable disapproval and judgment that it made Albus feel a little uncomfortable.
"Fifty points from Gryffindor for your lateness," said Snape with the smallest trace of satisfaction.
"Oh man-"
"Do not interrupt me while I'm talking Potter, five points for that," Snape snapped. "And a hundred points for your… heinous choice of dressing and inebriation."
Now that's just fantastic. Even though Albus was not in Gryffindor and, as a result, the emotional connection of losing house points was not immediately registering, he knew this was still a bad thing. Starting off the year by pulling your house points in the negative direction was one way to make friends.
"Alright sir," Albus said as he smiled politely, "I understand. I won't do this again."
Snape looked so exasperated that he might as well explode, for it appears that he expected Albus to deliberately clash with him and give him further excuse to torment Albus, which was admittedly an amusing sight to watch. Still, that man, regardless of his later-revealed heroics, seemed like a rather insufferable character. For once, Albus was glad that Horace Slughorn in all his pompousness was his head of house instead of the man walking beside him. No offense intended, of course.
They reached the castle steps at last and before the great oaken front doors swung open, Albus took off his tie from his head and hurriedly did it around his neck. The great entrance hall was packed with people, suffused with bouts of laughter and the heavenly smell of food.
"Do I rush to my table or what?" Albus whispered.
"Just walk in so everyone sees you, which is surely what you wanted - no Invisibility Cloak-"
Albus had dashed off before Snape could finish his sentence, which must have irked the man, though he never looked back to confirm his suspicions. He sped through the place, ignoring any stares and glances at his half-unbuttoned shirt and lack of robes, and made his way towards the Gryffindor table, which was a weird experience considering how he barely dined there at all and had to ignore his mental reflexes that were telling him otherwise. He eventually reached mini versions of his aunt Hermione and uncle Ron and forced his way between them. They were definitely trustworthy people and maybe tell them about who he really was and the deep shit he had gotten himself in. (Moreover, the sight of them doubly confirmed the fact that he was indeed sent back in time.)
"Blimey Harry! Where were you?" Rom exclaimed as people around them kept staring, which was mildly annoying. Can't people mind their own businesses? Albus could already hear thoughts floating in the air, speculating on the cause of his lateness. The curse of Legilimency.
"I got myself drunk," Albus said with a sigh. "And then I passed out and here I am."
"Seriously Harry! We've been terrified!" Hermione said with disapproval. "Also, how did you manage to get alcohol on the Hogwarts Express? It's forbidden, as Prefect I can - but I won't - punish you!"
"I'll tell you guys what happened later, okay? It's a lot to explain," Albus whispered, well aware that others were listening in. He decided to trust them and tell them just exactly what happened. Aunt Hermione was smart and she would have a clue on what to do. Plus they were his dad's closest friends and there was no way they can avoid detecting that something was off about him for long.
"But-"
"Not now," Albus interjected Hermione.
Albus glanced around the table. There were a few familiar faces from his time, Minerva McGonagall being one of them. She was a pretty stern headmistress, according to James, who had landed himself in detention time and time again. There was Albus Dumbledore, his other namesake, that he recognized from a portrait. There was Hagrid, a close family friend who was also an aficionado of outrageously dangerous creatures, not that Albus minded. Professor Trelway sat by Hagrid and looked as odd as ever. Albus had taken one of her classes before deciding that he had had enough of divination. Each to their own.
Surveying around the room, Albus' eyes landed on the Slytherin table, where, at another period of time when the people there were less... evil, he would have been sitting. What looked like Draco Malfoy (Scorpius really resembled his dad) was guffawing as he mimed over someone's shattered nose. It was weird. The people there looked positively unfriendly and Albus was sure that his bunch were much, much nicer. And he would also bet that they threw much better parties. And that they were also not ax-crazy pureblood supremacists. And that they (mostly) used the Forbidden Section of the library for make out sessions rather than other shiftier activities or at least that the books they checked out bore titles more similar to Forbidden Fornicating Fantasies than Magick Most Evile (seriously though, why would anyone admit that the magic they practiced was evil or that they were evil or whatever? It made no sense and the person who wrote the book was either really dumb or really dumb.) And that they were nicer. And that they were better at Quidditch. Albus was never good at Quidditch, being an absolute joke on the broom, but many of his house mates were excellent players and it always felt great to cheer them on and witness James' displeasure as they beat Gryffindor. James... Albus wondered how his insufferable idiot of a brother was doing as Head Boy, probably weeping on the inside at the newfound position of responsibility. Sure, there were perks but they also came with commitments and, under a new rule, he had to give up the position of Quidditch captain, which he would loathe.
Staring down at his treacle tart, Albus felt his stomach growl. He grabbed it and munched on it with the manner of a street urchin.
"What does Professor Slughorn want to know?" Hermione asked.
"Errr… sorry, wasn't paying attention…" Albus mumbled. "What about Sluggy?"
Shit. Another slip of the tongue.
"Sluggy? What kind of name was that?" Hermione frowned.
"Yeah, so you wanted to know what he wanted to know? I mean…"
"Could it be about what happened at the Ministry?" Hermione speculated.
"Yes, yes, it has to be," Albus said with a nod, glad that he finally knew what the hell was going on. His mind really needed to spin faster if he was to pull off the trick.
"People were interrogating us on the train about it, weren't they, Ron?"
"Yeah," said Ron, "All wanting to know if you really are the 'Chosen '-"
They were interrupted by Nearly Headless Nick, whose barely attached head looked like it was about to fall off as he inclined towards Albus, which kind of made Albus want to back away. "There has been talk of that subject even amongst ghosts. "I am considered something of a Potter authority; it is widely known that we are friendly. I have assured the spirit community that I will not pester you for information, however. 'Harry Potter knows that he can confide in me with complete confidence,' I told them. 'I would rather die than betray his trust.' "
"That's not saying much, seeing as you're already dead," Ron observed. Albus couldn't help but chuckle. It seems that uncle Ron had always been this funny. He always liked uncle Ron a lot when he was a kid - the man was where he acquired some of his earliest expressions of profanity. Apparently, according to his dad, "ass" had been his first word, spoken after a babysitting session by Ron.
"Once again, you show all the sensitivity of a blunt ax," said Nearly Headless Nick, looking very much affronted. He rose into the air and glided back toward the far end of the Gryffindor table just as Dumbledore was about to speak.
"Now... to our new students, welcome, to our old students, welcome back! Another full year of magical education awaits you..."
"There's something really dodgy about his hand," Albus whispered to Hermione, who had also noticed Dumbledore's blackened and dead-looking hand. "Reckon it's some sort of dark curse? It looks bad."
Hermione nodded. "It looks as if it has just died."
Dumbledore continued speaking, waving off concerns about the state of his hand, which made Albus frown. Either it really was nothing or it was potentially life-threatening and Dumbledore didn't want to alarm anyone in the room - probably the latter. As the headmaster mentioned something about Filch requesting a ban of products Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, Albus snickered. ("Your brothers are already becoming a force to be reckoned with," he chuckled at Ron.)
"...Those wishing to play for their House Quidditch teams should contact their Head of Houses and Quidditch captains..."
"Shit," Albus blurted out again, drawing looks from people around him, especially Ron and Hermione. He had momentarily forgotten the fact that not only was his father a prodigious seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, but that Harry Potter was also Quidditch captain. This made his stomach drop with dread again. He was useless in Quidditch, being barely able to survive on a broom. During his first flying lesson, he turned out to be the last person taking off and the sense of humiliation he experienced made him stay away from the sport. The Potter family's Quidditch genes had somehow escaped him. Yet, here, he had to pretend that he knew what he was doing. "It's nothing," Albus added, "Nothing at all."
"We are pleased to welcome a new member of the staff this year. Professor Slughorn" - Old Sluggy, a few years younger than when he taught Albus, stood up, his bald and shiny head gleaming, his massive belly jiggling - "is a former colleague of mine who has agreed to resume his old position of Potions master."
"Potions?"
There were gasps all around the room and Albus could almost wager that he was the only one who didn't seem surprised at it. Right, he remembered that Snape had been Potions master for the majority of his father's time at school. That made sense.
"Potions?" Ron and Hermione gaped at him concurrently. "But you said he would be taking over as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!"
Albus backed away from the two a little. "I don't know, I was just guessing." He had no idea about what his father might have said before. Ron and Hermione frowned at him again, as if noting that something was amiss.
When Snape had been announced as the new DADA teacher, there was also surprised voices reverberating through the entire hall. Albus merely shrugged. Perhaps he had been lacking in context - though uncle Ron loved to recount his days in Hogwarts, he must have missed details here and there - but Albus really could not comprehend what the fuss was about.
When Dumbledore started warning about Voldemort and the Death Eaters being at large again, Albus shot a look at Draco Malfoy, who was trying to make his fork hover in midair, as if deliberately not paying attention to the contents of the headmaster's speech. He remembered that Scorpius' dad had been a Death Eater when he was very young. He wondered if Draco had already taken the Dark Mark. That might explain some things.
As Hermione embarked on her prefect duties of shepherding first years, Ron stayed with Albus. Once they were out of earshot, the questions came. "What happened, Harry? What's the matter with you?"
"Listen, Ron..." Albus pulled Ron to the side, somewhere he was 100% sure no one could hear them. He lifted up his hair. "I'm not Harry Potter."
"What in Merlin's balls are you talking about?!"
"My name is - well - this is going to sound absolutely bonkers but you have to believe me. I'm ... from the future. I'm Harry Potter's second son, Albus Potter. And - oh don't give that expression, I'm being 100% serious - one moment I was drunk and partying on the train and another I woke up, at a different time, apparently mistaken for my father when he was younger, who also disappeared. I'm confused as hell, Ron - I just - I know you and my dad and Hermione were best friends back when you guys were still in Hogwarts - heck that's kind of now - it sounds weird - you know what, I'll answer any questions once aunt Hermione - no - Hermione, whoops - I'll answer questions once Hermione's also here. Oh look, Hagrid's coming. Let's pretend everything's alright and I'm Harry Potter. We can't let too many people know about this." Albus finished his garbled rambling just as Hagrid came to greet them. Ron's expressions were a muddled mess of confusion; he looked as if he were about to explode out of befuddlement or shake Albus into his senses. Albus couldn't blame him. Still, Ron managed to hold his tongue for the moment.
"How come yeh were late, Harry? I was worried."
"It's a long story." Albus gulped, feigning (well, not really feigning, given that he actually felt bad) an expression of guilt. "A long story involving alcohol..."
~X~
"So, you're really not Harry Potter?!" Hermione gazed at him with incredulity as he revealed his scarless forehead and cleared up a few things to her once they were in the Gryffindor common room. After a long and thorough description of his humiliations of the day, which involved heavy drinking, getting drunk, blacking out, acting like an idiot, travelling through time for some reason and bumping into Tonks, Albus finally explained that he planned on disguising himself as his father whilst searching for a way to go back to his own time, all while taking in the utter shock and horror in Ron and Hermione's faces.
It was definitely strange being in there so late at night. The only times when Albus visited here was when he crashed their Christmas Party last year and when, after the wailing and screeching of the Fat Lady, he finally managed to sneak past the place to see his family on one night.
"Yes," Albus answered. "That is correct."
"Merlin's pants..." Ron muttered.
"Well, then where is Harry?" Hermione frowned, perturbed. "You were saying that you simply woke up in... 1996, possibly right when Harry disappeared. This could not mean well."
"Maybe we switched places?" Albus shrugged as he suggested. "Hypothetically, if we did, then I personally wouldn't worry too much about him. My time is pretty safe. He won't have to deal with, well, murderous Death Eaters and ax-crazy Dark Lords."
Still worried, Hermione was barely reassured by his words. Ron still looked like he was about to explode. Albus didn't blame them; he would have felt the same if any of his friends or siblings suddenly disappeared into the blue and were replaced by someone claiming to be their child.
"So... What you want to do is pretend that you are Harry Potter?" Hermione said, trying to recollect herself
"Correct," Albus said hesitantly. "I mean, there's a good reason. it's better than most people knowing that I'm Harry's son, which can cause a lot of confusion, not to mention it might alter the future irrevocably, which I want to avoid..."
"That's true, bad things happen to those who meddle with time..."
"Or those who fall through time." Albus finished Hermione's sentence. "Plus, everyone might panic if they found out the Chosen One had gone missing. Except, I really, really need help from you guys."
"One thing though," Ron said as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously - Albus caught sight of him exchanging glances with Hermione - and furrowed his brows, "How do we know we can trust you? How do we know you really are who you say you are?"
"You don't trust me?" That was all he could muster in response. It made sense because technically, they had no reason to trust him. For all they knew - when viewing things from their perspective - he could be some Death Eater spy sent to Hogwarts.
"Ron has a point," Hermione added. "Give us a reason to not turn you in to Professor Dumbledore."
"I mean, you guys can totally alert Dumbledore if that's what you want," Albus said, "He might be able to help. I have no problem with that at all."
They didn't appear convinced.
How on earth was he going to get them to trust him?
"Your mother was a dentist," Albus finally spoke up, addressing Hermione, "She made the best gingerbread cookies in the entire world and this one summer, when I was over there with Rose, she taught us how to make it. She said that when you were two you tried to climb your dad's bookshelf and fell by accident, receiving a couple of stitches here and there-"
"Knowing about my family or my past is no solid proof, for all I know you-"
"Fine, then look into mine," Albus offered firmly. "You know how to do it. Just use your wand, point to me and say Legilimens. I'll show you."
~X~
It was a particularly thunderous night and Dad still wasn't home. The clock had struck midnight a while ago and six year old Albus Potter was terrified. His mother had tucked him into sleep hours ago yet sleep continued to evade him so. He tossed and turned and thought about scary things like dementors, giant spider and… and Dad not making it back home. After sometime of chasing sleep with futility, Albus decided to jump off his bed, sneak into the kitchen and scour the place for food. James claimed that Dad had a secret stash of sweets there. But then again, James was James.
Sneaking into places, pranking people, flouting rules and proudly bragging about it all, those were James's specialities. Albus was different, much more cautious, much less willing to get caught and much more quiet about it all. James always got caught, Albus almost never.
Stretching his pudgy fingers, he strained to reach the topmost cupboard. He internally screamed in frustration. He'd have to drag a chair - which was still fairly heavy for him - beneath and that might be too loud and that might wake everyone else up and his streak of not getting caught would be over. Crestfallen, he made his way towards the sofas and curled up there.
His thoughts soon grew darker, wandered away from candy.
Where was Dad?
Indeed, where was Dad?
He knew Dad had been away for an Auror mission - but to where?
Then some terrible thought struck him: What if Dad hadn't made it? What would they all do now?
Dad was an Auror, Mum would tell him. He risked his life to protect all of them from dark creatures and dark wizards and witches. What would they do when dad was gone?
Albus hated times like these, nights like these, nights when dad was away. He had never told this to anyone, but at times, he secretly wished that Dad wasn't the Hero of the Wizarding World or the Head Auror who risked his life all the time for everyone and just plain old Dad who loved his family, who weeded products from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes out of James, who surreptitiously gave his children candy and chocolate (without Mum's notice), and who took all of them out for Quidditch matches.
The door swung open. Dad slid in. He didn't switch on the lights for fear of waking up the family. Before Dad could take off his coat, Albus found his feet propelling him forwards. He slammed into Dad in a hug. "Dad! You're alive!"
"Albus!" Harry looked surprised. "What are you doing this late at night? Shouldn't you be in bed?"
"Can't sleep," Albus muttered guiltily. "I was scared - and I wanted candy." His worried look instantly switched into a cheeky grin.
Harry sighed. Ginny's ban on sweets had been rather counterintuitive, seeing as all of his children - James, Lily and Albus - have tried to get their hands on his secret stash. Their determination to eat candy had risen, not waned. He'd have to try and talk Ginny out of it. Still, sweets at two in the morning?
Immune to Albus's puppy eyes, Harry nevertheless picked his son up and carried Albus to bed.
"Daddy…" Albus spoke again, worried and tired and sleepy. "Why were you so late today?" His voice grew more frantic, more distraught. "I was so scared."
Harry pulled his son tightly into an embrace. "There, I'm still alive, am I?"
"What if you don't make it next time?" The boy was quiet, hoarse. His eyes widened. Green met green. Terrified. Lightning struck outside.
"Daddy will be fine," Harry murmured as Albus, rather disobediently, climbed into his lap.
"I don't want you to be an Auror," Albus said, pouting and frowning. "I just want you to be Dad. Why should you risk your life for everyone?"
"Albus," Harry chided slightly - he was stern but also gentle and encouraging. "Do you know what Aurors do?"
"Mummy says Aurors fight bad people and keep us all safe," Albus recited from memory.
"Exactly, Albus. And what will the world do without Aurors?"
Albus shook his head. He hadn't thought about that. He was lost for words. "But why does it have to be you? Why not - anyone else?"
"Since I was a kid, I've only been good at two things: Quidditch and fighting evil -"
"So you could have been a Quidditch player like Mummy!" Albus declared triumphantly and then his expressions turned apologetic for interrupting his Dad. "Sorry…" he muttered.
"Albus," Harry said, in a tone that made Albus feel safe. He hugged his dad again. "Because I love all of you, your mother, you, James, Lily… Being an Auror helps keep all of my loved ones safe. There are some things that are worth risking your life for."
"Then I want to be an Auror too," Albus blurted out without thinking much. He was getting very drowsy.
"Good boy," Harry said as he tucked his son into bed.
"No candy?" There came a mildly disappointed question.
"Next time." Harry smiled.
~X~
"There, you have it," Albus heaved a sigh of relief as Hermione withdrew from his memory, "If that doesn't convince then I'm afraid there is nothing I can do."
It was one of the touchier recollections. Every time his mind dwelled on it, Albus would be reminded of just how dedicated his father was to his job and just how much the events of the past shaped him.
Ron and Hermione - perhaps seeing traces of the Harry they knew - were at least less skeptical than they were before.
"We'll help," Hermione finally gave him a response, which was accompanied by Ron's nodding.
"Wonderful! First things first, I need to get a scar on my forehead and fake glasses," Albus explained.
Hermione, with her mental encyclopedia of spells, waved her wand and then suddenly there was a lightning scar on his forehead.
"This is awesome..." Albus gasped as he felt it. "You're awesome." He beamed at her.
"Thanks. It's like a temporary tattoo," Hermione explained. "It wears off periodically and revealing charms can make it disappear.
"Okay, and I can simply tell everyone that I decided glasses were lame and I decided to get contact lenses. Cool," Albus said, to the slight amusement and snorting of his two companions. "Back me up."
"Secondly, I need school robes, which I believe I took off while intoxicated," Albus said while gesturing to his half unbuttoned shirt. "This is all I have. I got my tie covered, which is good."
"Mmmmmm..." Ron looked a bit uncomfortable. Hermione elbowed him hard as if urging him about something. "You can borrow some of mine. They're hand-down robes so I can't guarantee they'd be much good.
"That's completely fine. Thank you so much. I mean, I won't be here forever. I need to find a way to get back to my own time, where I belong. And hopefully, it would be connected to bringing dad - Harry - back here, where he belongs," Albus explained. "But, in the meantime, we've got to keep up this ruse."
"He's right, Ron," Hermione concurred. "And we've got to help him, all while trying to find a way of sending him home and bringing our Harry back."
"I know, I know..."
"I'll do some reading about time-traveling, Albus - your dad named you after Dumbledore didn't he?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah." Albus responded. "Oh and also, I suck at Quidditch."
"What?!" Ron looked shocked for the millionth time tonight.
"I was wondering, is it possible for me to quit the team or would it cause too much of an uproar? Can I pretend that I have some sort of unspoken health issue? Can team captains not play in their matches because, if so, can I simply recruit another seeker.? Also, the Gryffindor Quidditch Team needs a new keeper, right?"
The string of questions, Albus could tell, was making Ron sink into despair.
Yep, they were off to a great start.
~X~
"Hold it!" Hermione halted a fourth year next day morning and began remonstrating, "Fanged Frisbees are banned, hand it over." The boy swore under his breath and Albus could hear the stream of profanities going through his head.
It all started during the aftermath of the Halloween feast in his second year when all the second year Slytherin boys decided to play Wizard Poker and substituted sweets for money. By the end of the night, shortly before dawn broke, Albus had acquired a mountain's worth of candy piled on his bed, much to the envy of his housemates. (He then opted to share them out again, as if nothing had happened, for there was no need in making unnecessary enemies.) It was also a strange experience, the entirety of that night. All his life, Albus had thought his ability to simply know what many people were thinking was intuition, impeccable guess-work, but that night, a more distinct definition emerged. However, that night, when he realized he coupled perceive the exact, precise cards of his opponents and then their emotions, strategic plans too, Albus' suspicions were confirmed. Scorpius had helped him reach the conclusion.
Being a Legilimens came with pros and cons. On the bright side, it meant that cheating during tests became infinitely easier and that, as a Prefect, he could detect lies from seemingly innocent First-Years. However, at the same time, it meant detecting lies that Albus wished were truths. As the son of the illustrated, famed Harry Potter, there were far too many flatterers and sycophants who approached Albus with a false smile. He had heard all the nasty things, the suspicions, the ulterior motives, beneath their sweet words. It most definitely contributed to his burgeoning cynicism, albeit cheerful cynicism - and no, in spite of Scorpius' denial, it's not oxymoronic.
"Excellent, I've always wanted one of these," Ron exclaimed gleefully once the fourth-year had left and tugged the frisbee from Hermione.
Hermione's scolding was drowned out by Lavender Brown's giggles. She glanced at Ron in a very flirty manner and he looked rather pleased with himself.
"She's into you," Albus quipped. It was true. He heard it in her head.
"Really?" Ron looked pleasantly surprised.
"Yup. And she wants to make a move soon," Albus speculated. "At least, she thinks she wants to make a move. Oh, I forgot to tell you guys, I'm a Legilimens."
"What?!" They both gawked. It was not the first time in the day that Albus said something that made them do so.
Albus gave them a nonchalant smile and shrug, trying to look as amicable as possible, trying to forget the gargantuan pile of feces he had found himself in, trying to treat this like any other day in his life.
Yeah, like that would be easy.